


All of Me

by FujinoLover



Series: Harley and Ivy [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/F, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, powerbottom!Harley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: Harley wants to try something new. Ivy is intrigued.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn
Series: Harley and Ivy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824364
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	All of Me

Harley pulls back to stare at Ivy. She would have laughed at her bewildered expression, not even the chlorophyll on her skin can cover the darkening of her cheeks. Wide emerald eyes stare back at her, with shock at first and then concern. Harley bounces on her heels under the scrutiny, the heat on her cheeks matching Ivy’s.

“Daffodil,” Ivy begins, tone neutral. She hasn’t moved at all, as if she is afraid the slightest movement will make Harley bolt. “Are you sure?”

“Er…yeah.” Harley does a series of movement at once, eyes on the row of potted plant while she nods her head and bites her lip, foot scuffing on the floor to kick a non-exist pile of dirt. “Yeah, I’m sure, Red. Been thinking ‘bout it.” She nods again, mostly to herself.

It is progress. Harley suggesting something new to try—something she also happens to never try before, not even with Joker—instead of Ivy doing so and letting her control their dynamic, is a huge step on a new direction. Long gone is Ivy treating Harley like a porcelain doll that will break at the slightest wrong touch. Harley can’t (and didn’t) protest against the notion, not when many of their nights together at the beginning was ruined because she had a breakdown. Joker’s abuse throughout the years has left scars deeper than she’d thought, or it might be just Ivy—loving, patient, protective Ivy making her comfortable enough to be vulnerable.

Ivy had even taken to use her vines to wrap around her torso ( _not on the neck, please_ , Harley choked, held on her neck where countless bruise the shape of a hand had come and gone, and whimpered as Ivy held her in her arms) to detect her respiration and heart rates. A panic attack in the middle of sex is never sexy, but they are still learning about each other and screwing up tend to happen one way or another. Even after Ivy asks (always) and Harley gives her consent, random shit still manages to sneak between them. Sex is pretty much ruined by then, but the worst for Harley is not her natural response to blame herself, it is to see Ivy blaming herself.

There are far too many things that Harley can’t do without getting triggered. It’s not as easy as showing the world that the boogieman no longer has any power over her, because he doesn’t and she thrives and lives and blooms. Some trauma, unfortunately, will never heal. She can do nothing about that, but like Selina always tells her, not every part of her has been broken, or in the case of her request, has been touched.

“You don’t have to,” Ivy says, finally moving to touch Harley’s arm. She lets her see her hand first before making any contact. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to prove anything, Harls.”

Harley blinks. Her nostrils flare when she understands what Ivy meant. “I _want_ to,” she hisses, the anger not quite tampered down. “Is it too much for a gal to ask her girlfriend to fuck her on the ass?” As soon as the words leave her, she tracks back. “Fuck. Is that even a thing _you_ ’d be interested in?”

Instead of answering right away, Ivy steps closer until their bodies touch. The hand that was on Harley’s arm has sneaked around her waist, lower and lower until it cups her ass cheek. Fingers flutter over the swell of her butt that isn’t quite covered by the pink shorts she’s wearing and she takes a harsh inhale of today’s jasmine.

“Very much so,” Ivy says before tugging on Harley’s earlobe, feeling her shiver and strong hands crumpling the front of her lab coat. She lets her fingers skim under the shorts that is so short she manages to get her forefinger into the cleft of her ass, trailing the thin line of her thong lightly as Harley shudders against her. “But I have to research about it first.” And just like that, her whole hand left Harley’s ass to hold on her hip.

Harley whines, “No fair.”

Ivy laughs and kisses the pout away.

It takes over a week of research. Ivy does it with the same tenacity that earned her her PhD, fitting all the readings among their usual bank-robbing, lovemaking, and foiling a PVC company’s irresponsible waste dumping. She went through trashy magazines, online articles, even dug out Harley’s old anatomy books. She tried watching porn once, which wasn’t very educative other than providing some visual aid.

Just now, though, when Harley curls on the floor, thighs press on her chest in a yoga pose that Ivy thinks is called the child’s pose, she notices the curious budge between her ass, like a little knob—like a buttplug. She figures it is her mind playing tricks on her after reading far too much about anal sex; it really is time to stop studying and put her knowledge into practice.

Ivy closes the laptop, puts it aside along with her glasses and announces, “I’m ready.”

“Ready?” Harley echoes from her position sprawling on the floor, already done with her routine and is just stretching her limbs now. Suddenly, her head jerks up to look at Ivy. “Like ready _ready_? To fuck my ass or?”

Ivy cringes. She loves her girlfriend to pieces, even her annoying snore, but she will never get used to how crass she can be sometimes. “Yes, that,” she says.

Harley is on her feet in an instant. “Right now?” She shuffles, but doesn’t jump to straddle Ivy like she usually does.

“Don’t _you_ need to get ready first?”

“Oh yeah, right.” Harley _tsks_. “Okay, Red.”

Ivy actually blushes when Harley shows her the enema set she lifted from a nearby pharmacy the next day. She never forgets that her girlfriend is so much smarter than she lets on, but sometimes she does forget that Harley finished medical school before becoming a psychiatrist.

“Oh, right.” Harley produces three colorful packages from her pocket and hands them over to Ivy. “There is more of that from where it comes from.” She winks.

Ivy stares at the wrappings with wide eyes, cheeks burning brighter than she thinks possible. On her hand are a condom, a femidom, and a pack of finger cots. She has been too busy educating herself that the logistical part escaped her mind. Just like whenever she’s doing research and forgets to do basic living maintenance, Harley is always there for her.

“We still got that box of nitrile gloves in the bathroom too.”

Which is used whenever Harley is hurt and needs some medical attention. Ivy would never be able to see the gloves in the same way ever again if she’s using that. But Harley is still standing in front of her, like she’s expecting her to choose— _oh_. Ivy makes a quick mental calculation and puts the condom and femidom aside. She wants to feel her—all of her—for their first time.

Harley collects the eliminated protections with a chaste kiss, skips into their bedroom and closes the door behind her. It’s not locked, but Ivy isn’t invited to join in either, so she busies herself with the potted plants they have indoor and refilling the hyenas’ bowls (just so they won’t interrupt them later). There is only so much she can do before she ends up on the couch.

She’s staring at the cartoon playing on the TV, not really watching. It’s kept on mute while she’s straining to listen to the activity happening in the bedroom. The shower started about half an hour ago and shut down about ten minutes ago and then there is a long silence. Ivy guesses that Harley is dressing up, or doubting herself and not knowing how to tell her.

She grips on the armrest, taking calming breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Harley is a capable, strong woman who can make her own decision. Ivy doesn’t know what’s going on that big brain of hers and so she won’t make assumptions. Harley will come to her when she’s ready—or when she decides she’s not ready, and Ivy will accept her either way.

Her thoughts halts and she straightens up when their bedroom door clicks open and Harley saunters out. Her hair is down, the dyed tips still damp from her shower, and she’s wearing the pink onesie—her comfort clothing, the one she wears when the voices in her head are too loud or the plot of a movie is upsetting her. Without preamble, she sits across Ivy’s laps. The softness of her sleeves caressing Ivy’s neck as she wraps her arms around her shoulders.

Ivy leans into the embrace with a _hi_ and a peck on Harley’s nose.

“Hey.” Harley grins, returning the gesture with an actual kiss on the lips. She tastes like the bubblegum toothpaste that Ivy is sure is made for kids. “You okay there, Pammy?”

“I’m fine.”

Harley gives her a look. One that if she was wearing her glasses and not donning the cute onesie with its eared hood up, will immediately make Ivy address her as _Doctor Quinzel_. Not that they don’t roleplay that from time to time. Ivy does love it when Harley plays doctor. Only this time, seduction won’t get her away.

“It’s just…” Ivy sighs; her hold on Harley’s waist tightens. “I want to do right by you.”

Harley laughs, light and airy. “Silly Red.” Her hand finds Ivy’s and brings both up to her chest, to slip in between the zipper that God-knows-when has been pulled down and touch the warm _naked_ skin of her chest. Of course Harley is wearing nothing underneath. “Ya always do me right.”

Ivy wants to roll her eyes so bad, but settles on cupping a breast and running her thumb over the hardened peak. Harley squeaks. She kisses Ivy with more enthusiasm, lips and tongue and teeth, like she’s going to devour her alive.

They are much more in tune each other now. Harley’s breakdown are rare and far in between and Ivy knows every slightest thing that can be a trigger. There is no longer a need for Ivy to wrap her vines around Harley to detect her vital, but it has been part of them for as long as they’ve been together. The first (and last) time they tried without the vines, Ivy became too distraught to do anything more than kissing. So it stays, for Ivy’s sake.

Thus when the vines slitter from wherever it comes from and taps Harley on the cheek, she greets it with a peck. It isn’t unusual for Ivy’s plants to clamor for her attention nowadays—tickling her ankle, caressing her arm, some even blooms in her presence. Outstretching an arm, she lets the vines curls into a bracelet around her wrist, soft like a petal and pulsing along her heart beats. It’s connected to somewhere on Ivy’s body like a lifeline and Harley feels her partner relax when the connection is established.

Now the fun can begin. Taking Ivy’s wrist again, she brings it up to kiss on the fingertips before taking a couple into her mouth. She’s grinning, taunting her as she laps and sucks on her fingers. Ivy groans at the bratty display. She can’t do anything but watch, dumbly mesmerized as Harley begins the pull and push rhythm, eyes closed as she hums around her. Ivy jolts up with each movement, making soft whimpering noises whenever smoldering blue eyes pin her down. The sweet torture lasts for a while, until Harley has enough and pulls Ivy’s fingers out with a pop.

“You’re a tease, Peanut,” Ivy says.

Harley is aware of the effect she’s having on her lover, because she just grounds her ass harder against her and smirks when Ivy throws her head back with a moan. She kisses on her exposed throat, nosing on the thundering pulse. With Ivy’s wrist still in her grasp, she guides them back inside her onesie, skipping over her chest and stomach until they reach the junction of her thighs. The vines move with her, never restraining.

Once Ivy grazes over the hair below Harley’s navel, it’s not hard to tell what she wants her to do. They pregame whenever they’re going to try something new, to take off the edge and because the new thing doesn’t always work in their favor. It was Harley’s idea, actually, after that one time with the blindfold and Ivy ended up wheezing _Batsy_ as panic crept on her and they both cried afterwards.

Ivy keeps her touch light, teasing along the folds before she parts them and uncovers the wet heat in between. She closes her own eyes, luxuriating in the feelings of Harley against her as she plays with her. She keeps her parted while a single finger traces along her length, never pressing hard enough for Harley to find real pleasure from the contact.

It doesn’t take long before Harley has enough of the teasing. Gripping on Ivy’s wrist to hold her still, she uses the arm around her neck anchors herself as she propels her pelvis forward to take her in. Ivy moans at the bold move. It’s different when Harley is calling the shot, because it is one of the things they have successfully tackled. Ivy sitting back and letting Harley use her, taking pleasure from her, but never in the way _he_ did. It helps a great deal to build her trust and Harley’s confidence.

Ivy feels her heartbeat gradually skyrocketing. By now, she can tell how far it should go before it becomes alarming. Harley’s hand tightens around her wrist as she mouths on the side of her neck, little puffs of hot breath tickling her skin. She takes it as the cue to start curling her fingers whenever she reaches deep inside her and Harley tightens all around her still.

Several thrusts later, she comes with a full body shudder, hips twitching every time Ivy’s thumb flicks over her clit. For all her bigger-than-life attitude, Harley is not as verbal during sex. She mentioned her mind being quiet when they are together, so she doesn’t need to be louder to drown it out. Ivy finds her precious, obnoxiously loud or not. She’s still being fucked languidly, riding off the orgasm until she slumps against Ivy with a sigh.

Ivy has exactly 49 seconds before Harley recovers and an additional eight seconds before she can fully command her limbs. When that happens, she will return the favor—always eager to please, most probably by getting on her knees and set herself between Ivy’s legs. As much as the thought sent a jolt of arousal through her, it is Harley’s time. Ivy wants to celebrate her—for being brave, for telling her what she wants without fearing rejection, for trusting her implicitly with something so intimate and fills the cavity in her chest with love until she is bursting with it.

With the knowledge in the forefront of her mind, she makes her moves fast. She slips herself out and maneuvered Harley on her laps so she is straddling her. Harley must have thought they are going to scissor or something as equally sexual, because the blissful smile on her face just turns lewd.

“Hold tight,” Ivy says.

Harley yelps, from the hands that palm her butt and Ivy suddenly standing up. Immediately, she clings on her like a koala, wrists and ankles lock behind her neck and waist to help easing the strain on her muscles.

Both of them are aware that Harley is far more athletic than Ivy is. Ivy’s upper body strength is nowhere as good as Harley’s, who has picked her up bridal-style from time to time and once carried her over her shoulder like a goddamn Neanderthal after losing a tickle fight. Luckily this time, they make into the bed without anyone stubbing their toe or being dropped on their ass.

Harley giggles when she is deposited in the middle of their bed with a little bounce and Ivy sighing on top of her, already running out of energy from the short walk. She melts on to the soft thousand-thread cotton, random twitch all over her sated body and goose bumps on her skin while Ivy works to peel off the onesie. She folds it and her own oversized t-shirt, places them on the side along with her own ruined panties, and puts her long hair in a bun.

There is a towel and their bottle of lube waiting on the edge of the bed, Ivy commandeered more of her vines to fetch them in the meantime. She tugs them closer to her before she rolls down the cot over her forefinger and middle finger. She can always add more later. Kneeling between Harley’s legs, she takes hold on both to position them over her shoulders so she can slide a pillow lined up with the towel under her pelvis. Still in the haze of her peak plus her years doing gymnastic, Harley’s body is pliant to Ivy’s arrangement.

It would be so much easier if Harley was on all fours, but that, unfortunately, is a trigger. Ivy doesn’t even know why or how, she just accepts it as it is.

Ever so slowly, with kisses from her mound up to her breasts, Ivy pushes Harley’s legs up until they touch her chest. Her heat presses against the flat of Ivy’s stomach, smearing wetness over her abs when she leans up to kiss her on the lips.

Harley hums her approval. Hands coming up to hold the back of her knees as she parts her thighs further. Ivy smiles to the kiss before she moves back down, tickling Harley’s jaw with her long eyelashes when she licks her neck and then sucking a mark on the side of her left breast, right above her heart. Both of her hands occupy themselves with the smooth skin of her thighs as she kisses her way down.

At the first hot puff of air caressing her center, Harley shudders. The sight of Ivy between her legs never ceases to cause a fresh flood of wetness. It is ridiculous how the pressure between her hips intensify and she feels herself squeezing over nothing in a desperate longing. The position doesn’t really allow her to thread her fingers in the red mane nor using a hand to play with her breasts—if she lets go of her legs, she might actually kick Ivy when the next stimulation comes. So she settles with arching her back, each time rubbing her nipples against her thighs. Ivy clicks her tongue at her impatience, but rewards her with a generous lap over her clit.

“Red.” Harley’s voice is shaky. “Ya meanie moe.”

Instead of replying, Ivy goes lower. She tilts her head to kiss Harley’s nether lips like she does to the ones on her face and sucks until it is only her clit in her mouth. Harley trashes about with a howl, stumbling to the edge of her second orgasm in record time—a second orgasm that Ivy doesn’t let her have so easily. She lets go of Harley with an exaggerated smooch and goes even lower.

“May I?”

Ivy’s voice is already muffled from her current position and the heartbeats roaring in Harley’s ears don’t help her either. “Yeah,” she says. “You gotta.”

On the first swipe of Ivy’s tongue over the puckered muscles, Harley tenses. She pauses to breathe in on her before repeating the motion in the same deliberate pace. She has altered her saliva to contain not just water-based lubricant ( _all organic!_ , Harley always teases after she sucks her clean) but also strong antibacterial properties. She could have added nectar or certain scent to it as well, but nothing beats Harley’s natural taste and scent, which is trickling down to her waiting mouth thanks to their position.

Ivy begins dipping the tip of her tongue in. Each push a little harder than before until Harley yields under her prodding. However, her enjoyment dies when she feels the thigh under her palm starts shaking. Its whole weight now rests on her shoulder.

“Harls?” she calls, looking up from between her legs to see that Harley has an arm over her eyes. “Sweet pea?”

“Arkham,” Harley squeaks.

Concerned, Ivy quickly squirts a considerable amount of lube on her covered fingertips and uses them to replace her tongue, moving them in the same fluttering pattern. She raises up to rest her chin on the _Lucky You_ on Harley’s navel, now surrounded by a recent tattoo of deep green vines up to her belly button.

“Are you alright?”

Ivy aches to stop. She did out of instinct whenever Harley uses the yellow safeword before and it always earns her a chiding. _Yellow means slow down, Red, not stop_. It takes a while for her to adapt.

“Yeah…”

Harley breathes out shakily. The arm that was covering her eyes falls to the side and for the first time Ivy notice the pink of her skin. She is blushing down to her neck and chest. Ivy is taken aback, it is rare to see her girlfriend actually blushing.

The leftover side effect of the acid that was part of Harley’s rebirth is not just her unnatural pale complexion. She spent days after her dip in the vat dealing with continuous peeling of her skin, until what’s left is just as soft but much thicker. It helps lessen her injuries during fights—a cut now only a scratch—but the effect of normal response like blushing is also diminished.

If Ivy can actually _see_ her going pink, it must be quite a flush.

“Just not what I expect, yanno.” Harley giggles. “It tickles!”

The breath that is stuck on Ivy’s throat leaves her in a gush of relief. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Ivy has to ask, because once upon a time cunnilingus used to make Harley feel a little awkward for being exposed so intimately. They each has more than a fair share of being abused and manipulated by men, but Joker’s treatment of Harley, the way he made her believe that she only gets what she deserves, plummeted down her self esteem almost beyond repair. Having her ass eaten out might have brought back some of that insecurity.

“Nope.”

“Would you like me to try again?”

All the while, Ivy has been circling Harley with her wet fingertip. The touch remains firm, but not pushing. She’s prepared to continue that way—she’s prepared to stop it altogether if Harley wants her to.

Harley hums and when Ivy doesn’t show any sign of switching her fingers with her tongue again, she lets out a _yes_ , bucking her hips up to make her point—only to moan loudly because it catches Ivy inside her. It’s only through the ring of muscles, but enough to leave both of them breathless.

“Harley?”

Ivy feels her testing it out, clenching and unclenching around her single digit. It’s not even deep enough to cover her first knuckle, but she can already tell that it will be a different experience. When Harley loosens up and pushes forward at the same time, taking more of her inside, she bites down her lip and keeps her hand steady. She’s up to her first knuckle now, tipping in through the sphincter muscles, and for the first time realizing that Harley has lubed up after she cleaned herself.

Soft and wet and tight and _fuck_ —Ivy’s head swims with the barrage of sensations and she’s still nowhere near full penetration. “Harley?” she asks again, voice strangles with arousal.

Harley huffs and groans. She’s pretty much puffing her cheeks at Ivy, who doesn’t relent no matter how cute her partner is being. Nothing further will happen until Harley uses her safeword.

“Tacos. C’mon, Pammy.” She cants her hips up, but Ivy simply follows the motion and doesn’t let her take more. “Tacos, tacos, _tacos_!”

Ivy barely stops herself from snorting at the safeword. They can’t use the common set of green, yellow, and red because the obvious reason of Red being one of her nicknames. The ridiculousness that she feels for crying out a food name— _tacos_ , out of everything—while Harley is playing with her is worth for seeing the silly smug grin on her beautiful lover. She figures she’s too far gone to even bother about tacos.

“I have to prep you first, okay daffodil?”

Harley whines. She has almost a whole tube of lube inside her. She just wants to be fucked already. Ivy is already _there_ , all she has to do is push in then pull out and in, out, in, out. Bit by bit. Slowly getting deeper as she relaxes. Maybe touch her clit too until she comes. Is that too much to ask?

Ivy kisses the back of her thigh as an apology. “I don’t want it to be hurt.”

Years and years of unconditional love and support and understanding is what stopping Harley from telling her that _it supposed to be hurt_ and _that’s all I knew of_ and _just fuck me already_. She does growl out the last one.

A hum and another kiss on the inner side of her thigh are the only response from Ivy. Quickly, she removes herself completely from Harley and skips off to their bathroom. She emerges soon after, mouth smells of her homemade tea tree and peppermint oils mouthwash and a new tube of lube on her hand. In the mean time, Harley is occupied with stroking herself. Her free hand is groping on a breast, pinching and pulling on the tip as she sighs softly. She stops when she sees Ivy.

“Please continue,” Ivy says, sauntering to sit on the bottom of the bed. She knows what Harley is doing long before she came back, once the vines that’s connected to her started vibrating in a familiar pattern. She keeps her eyes on Harley, who is blushing bright.

It takes a few seconds before Harley resumes the languid teasing of herself. Ivy’s eyes never leave her, the intense gaze makes her wetter and soon enough her timid movement grows bolder. Parting her legs wider to give Ivy a better view, she begins dripping her finger inside. When Ivy has enough, she’s welcomed back when she slips between Harley’s legs and places her knees over her shoulders once again. Head bows for her tongue to join Harley’s hand even as she gradually rises and arranges them back into their previous position. Harley’s hand leaves her sex to hold on the back of her knee again, but Ivy’s mouth remains.

All lubed up, she gets inside her ass far easier this time. Ivy holds on the current position of her finger before diving in to thrust her tongue into Harley. It’s a familiar territory, but it doesn’t stop her from relishing the way Harley’s body reacts to her intrusion, always squeezing and sucking her in as if she wants to keep her inside forever.

This time, the sensation doubles up as she feels Harley doing the same on her finger in her ass and she can’t stop the low moan from breaking through her lips. Her own hips hump against the mattress, desperately trying to relieve the ache. She doesn’t bother to reach down with her free hand, too preoccupied with Harley and knowing from past experiences that when it’s this intense, she will come when Harley does, even without a single touch on her own body.

Despite the fact that it’s not really how Harley wants to be fucked, she loves that tongue and what it can do to her and most importantly, she loves the person that tongue belongs to. She feels the thick, warm liquid mixes easily with her own arousal every time Ivy thrusts her tongue in. Soon enough, the abundance of it begins to overflow, trickling down until the drops land on Ivy’s lone finger.

With both of Harley’s thighs pressed down by her shoulders, Ivy sneaks an arm to Harley’s hip to secure her down before making any move. The moment she wiggle her finger, Harley jerks up with a loud groan. Ivy’s firm hold on her prevents the sudden jerk, which would have been enough to push Ivy deeper. Scratching Harley’s inner walls is something she never wants. The countless research has again and again reminds her about the amount of veins contained in the delicate muscles and how easy it is to tear. Ivy would cut her arm off before she hurts Harley like that.

Slowly, deliberately, as though Ivy actually measure each millimeters of her movement, she begins to move her finger. Neither of them knows whose moans and gasps filling the room—when Harley does, Ivy does too, reverberating right against her sex, and it makes her even louder. The cycle continues until Ivy’s finger is fully sheathed inside. She rests her face on her, ignoring the mess all over her lips and chin and the soaked towel underneath. She grunts when a strong shudder runs through her spine, feebly humping against the flat mattress as Harley continues to pulse around her.

“Red,” Harley croaks. All she can see of Ivy is her red hair sticking out of its bun between her legs. “Did ya just…”

Ivy laughs without a hint of shame. She nuzzles against Harley, smearing more wetness on her cheek. “The things you do to me,” she says, sighing.

Making Poison Ivy, the very embodiment of sex who can makes anyone kneel on her feet with a drop of her pheromone, comes without an active play on her part, always does wonder to boost Harley’s self esteem. Still, she whines out her displeasure. She’s glad that her Pammy gets one, but she prefers to be the one getting her there. Preferably by having her sitting on her face, but she’s up for anything, really.

“Later, sweet pea.” Ivy assures with another wiggle of her finger, reminding Harley that they are still in the middle of something. “Ready?”

Harley arches her head back with a small _uh-uh_. “Yes. Ready, Red. Tacos, please.”

“Good girl,” Ivy coos.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she catches Harley’s eyes before pulling her finger out ever so slightly. The walls closing in around the vacant space, sucking her back inside, and give way when she pushes. Harley’s hand that isn’t holding on the back of her knee scrambles to find hers and she intertwines their fingers over her hip.

On the sixth time, now Ivy is up to two fingers and out almost up to her fingertips, Harley can’t hold on their eye contact anymore. Once blue eyes flutters shut, lost in the slow ecstasy that’s being dragged out of her, Ivy looks down to where they are connected and can’t contain her own moan as she clenches her thighs together. Harley is slippery wet and stretched pink and burning like a furnace. Ivy wonders if it’ll be the way she goes, she knows fire will kill any plant and it does feel like she is on fire and she really doesn’t mind dying this way.

Shaking the thought out of her mind, Ivy picks up on her pace. It isn’t anywhere fast; she’s still reeling from the feeling of being surrounded so intimately by Harley. _Like dippin’ into hot marshmallow_ , is probably how Harley would have explain it and Ivy would have agreed despite her dislike of the sweets.

When they are having vaginal sex, three fingers are usually enough for Harley. It’s less about the feeling of being full (which sometimes even overwhelm her) and more about technique. It’s the way Ivy times her thrust and crooks up her fingers when she reaches deep inside Harley to hit that special spot that always makes her lose herself fast. This time, however, she has to ask.

“Daffodil?” Ivy waits until Harley’s eyes meet hers and lose some of its glaze before she asks, “Would you like me to add another?”

It takes a moment for Harley to get what Ivy is asking, and another moment longer for her to shakes her head with a soft _no_. She no longer flinches away or tucks her shoulders together to make herself small. No longer expecting the blows that came whenever she dared to refuse something. Ivy is so proud of her.

“Okay,” Ivy says, smiling with pride and affection. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me.”

The praise is enough to remove whatever little guilt that Harley might be feeling for turning down the offer. Grinning back, she squeezes on Ivy—the buttplug and all those booty kegels she had been doing while her Red was busy poring over the technicality of anal sex is definitely worth it, because Ivy just splutters and she can’t help but giggles.

Ivy stares up at her with quirked brow, a slow smirk curling her lips. The next thing Harley knows, she’s jolting up the bed with a strangled cry. Her back arches and hips buck up and Ivy disregards the vice-like grip that’s threatening to break her hand in favor of her clit.

She alternates between sucking and swirling as she continues fucking her ass in earnest. Soon enough, Harley’s mewl turns into grabbles cry of _fuck fuck yes Red please fuck Pammy yes_ that dissolves into gibberish. Ivy slams her eyes shut, legs closing together to stave off her own orgasm, and holds on Harley’s hand as she rides her climax.

Once the death-grip on her hand slackens a bit, Ivy doesn’t hesitant to tear her hand away and thrust it between her own legs. A couple of frantic rubs around her aching clit and she is coming. Legs curl up, clamping her hand between them as hot white pleasure shakes her entire body. The things Harley does to her indeed.

When she comes back to herself, she’s still panting and Harley is playing with her hair. There is a pout on her kiss-swollen lips. Ivy can already feel the cool silk around her wrists and hear the stern _we have to work on your self-restrain again, Pamela. Doctor’s order_. That alone is enough to turn her on all over again.

For the moment, though, she offers a smile, albeit a little sheepish, kisses up to Harley’s belly button where she dips her tongue in and earns herself a giggle. During the distraction, she slips her fingers out. She has to wash her hand first and despite Harley having a shower beforehand, both of them can benefit from another right now. With a sweep of her hand, the vines emerge and help her bring her spent lover to their bathroom.

Less than twenty minutes later, Ivy finds herself backed up to the cold tiles. The shower is no longer running overhead. Another empty bottle of lube discarded by her foot while her other leg hooks on Harley’s strong shoulder, tongue tracing characters on her clit as Harley works her fist inside her, just the way she loves it. Just for tonight, Ivy thinks she might like tacos as much as Harley does.


End file.
